In a town filled with alleys that twisted together in an unsolvable labyrinth, a ghostly creature silently glided through. The fog was thick and swirled around the phantom, almost as if the mist was formed by it. A tattered cloak fluttered behind it, rags clung to its skin, a hood well over its face.
The unearthly thing gripped a scythe, with a black wooden handle. The blade on top could cut through anything, even a human’s soul. Especially a human’s soul. That was the reason the ghost was out on this black haze. Death was hunting a soul.
But Death was in no hurry. Death glided through the maze of street and alleys slow and easy. One might say Death was savoring this moment, to gloat that it would take another soul for itself. Or maybe the reaper was moving slowly to make a point that nobody can escape it. No one can hide from Death.
But it was nothing personal. It was just its job.
Deep in the narrow maze Death went, getting closer to its prey. The black spirit glided around a corner, never making a sound. And down the alley was a middle-aged man, wearing a heavy black coat to shield him from the chill of night. His thinning hair ruffled in the soft, icy breeze. Nothing about him stood out to Death. He was just a regular man about to die, without knowing it.
Death waited by the corner, waiting for the man to approach it. It leaned against the brick building near it. What was going through its mind as the man walked near? What was its reaction when a teenager appeared out of nowhere and pulled a knife on the man? No one could possibly tell. Death is a mysterious thing.
The two men never saw Death. They never saw it raise the scythe. They never saw the scythe come down. As it come down, the man reached into his coat and pulled a gun and fired on the boy. And as the bullet pierced through his flesh, the scythe ripped through his soul. He died instantly and Death claimed the broken soul for his own.
Death turned and silently glided away, its cloak softly blowing through the breeze.
By Rachel
In a town filled with alleys that twisted together in an unsolvable labyrinth, a ghostly creature silently glided through. The fog was thick and swirled around the phantom, almost as if the mist was formed by it. A tattered cloak fluttered behind it, rags clung to its skin, a hood well over its face.
The unearthly thing gripped a scythe, with a black wooden handle. The blade on top could cut through anything, even a human’s soul. Especially a human’s soul. That was the reason the ghost was out on this black haze. Death was hunting a soul.
But Death was in no hurry. Death glided through the maze of street and alleys slow and easy. One might say Death was savoring this moment, to gloat that it would take another soul for itself. Or maybe the reaper was moving slowly to make a point that nobody can escape it. No one can hide from Death.
But it was nothing personal. It was just its job.
Deep in the narrow maze Death went, getting closer to its prey. The black spirit glided around a corner, never making a sound. And down the alley was a middle-aged man, wearing a heavy black coat to shield him from the chill of night. His thinning hair ruffled in the soft, icy breeze. Nothing about him stood out to Death. He was just a regular man about to die, without knowing it.
Death waited by the corner, waiting for the man to approach it. It leaned against the brick building near it. What was going through its mind as the man walked near? What was its reaction when a teenager appeared out of nowhere and pulled a knife on the man? No one could possibly tell. Death is a mysterious thing.
The two men never saw Death. They never saw it raise the scythe. They never saw the scythe come down. As it come down, the man reached into his coat and pulled a gun and fired on the boy. And as the bullet pierced through his flesh, the scythe ripped through his soul. He died instantly and Death claimed the broken soul for his own.
Death turned and silently glided away, its cloak softly blowing through the breeze.